Date: Tue, 15 Feb 2011 12:29:48 -0800 From: M. D. Subject: BODYBUILDERS: SONS AND DADS MUSCLE SON ________________ The win at the Nationals placed Andy at the top. His body responded with a testosterone rush that blew him away. Coach knew it was time to bring Andy to the next level. Don had been coaching collegiate wrestling for 25 years and could spot talent immediately. He loved his boys as his own, but some more than others, and it showed. Watching Andy grow into the nation's best wrestler brought him enormous pride and a very close relationship with the boy. He knew that his post game conference with Andy needed to be very direct. 225 packed onto a 5'10" frame earned Andy the nickname "fireplug." And he used it to his best advantage on the mat. He'd been to the Nationals three times previously but never placing first. This was indeed a special day. The pregame session with Coach had been intense, more intense than usual. He and Coach stood next to each other in front of the full mirror in his office. Andy, wearing his favorite singlet; coach in his suit and tie. Andy couldn't see it, but he knew that Coach's EG&A USMC tattoo was underneath the white shirt and it made him feel connected, his own tat clearly visible on his right bicep. Instinctively, he flexed it and coach naturally put his hand over it and whispered into the wrestler's ear "that's it son, right n' tight for coach." Andy smiled and flexed tighter his 20" baseball bicep swelling with blood and pride that he was making his coach proud. Don placed his other hand on the nape of Andy's high and tight. Coach had made sure that before every match that Andy was smooth, shaving him so that there was no chance that another grappler might snag him. It was common practice, but Coach took extra care for this match. As an ego boost for the young wrestler, Coach gave him a full, regulation high and tight haircut, inching Andy closer to the Marine that he wanted to become. It was a perfect high n tight. Standing next to Andy, Coach and he looked very similar save the age difference. Don ran his fingers over the boy's bicep and by reflex, tensed his own bicep, swelling with affection. Don took muscle very seriously. At 56 years old, he knew that he was approaching the upper limits of professionally competing in the bodybuilding world. As a Marine, he took great care of his personal appearance and always kept the USMC look. Close cropped hair, tight shirt and pants, even wearing his old PT gear at the gym. His dress blues hung neatly in his closet, no reason to it, but he liked to stroke the blood stripe every now and then to remember the years he spent serving and the way it made him feel to be a Marine. The broad USMC tat and the USMC bulldog stretched tight on his tank top might have been why Andy approached him in the gym to ask for a spot on the bench press. Andy was at the height of his physical challenges and needed a push to go farther, whether he knew it or not. Coach did and responded immediately. Andy's genetics offered a lot. Defined pecs hung over a true eight pack. Legs that only years of wrestling practice could develop and the thick neck of a hardcore weightlifter. Andy liked how he looked, often comparing himself to the pros in the bodybuilding mags. Alone in his room, he often would imitate the poses by the pros – especially after Coach had helped him shave before a game. A bottle of baby oil in his nightstand helped him feel like a true bodybuilder, a dream he has been hanging onto for years. His posing was weak, but good for a young man his age. The oil, the pump from jacking iron and a good look at the latest muscle mags was all he needed to get into the head that allowed him to really focus on how his muscular development was progressing. It was natural that Andy and Coach would walk to Coach's office after the win. Coach's arm around Andy's neck, his thumb stroking the smooth skin of the shave nape of his wrestler Marine high n tight. Coach could feel the tension in the kid's neck and feel the damp sweat through the wrestling singlet. He flexed his chest naturally, making the dress shirt taught against his 50" chest. A size he was determined to get Andy to and bigger. Don walked into the back of his office to change from his business suit, a tradition for him to show the wrestlers' respect and professionalism. Andy sat down in the chair in front of Coach's desk. Andy looked around. Pictures lined the walls, a tribute to coach's work over the years. In each one, without exception, Coach stood with a previous wrestler, individually, with his hand on their neck and a serious kind of smile. Each wrestler, in the college white singlet, two bands of navy blue and gold running down the side had a clarity about them, A dedication of sort. And each of them, every one in the twenty-odd photographs had his hand cupping his balls slightly. Andy didn't pay too much attention after the quick scan, sitting back down and thumbing through the muscle mags on the Coach's desk. Don felt more comfortable after a quick shower and shave. He walked out of the private bathroom wearing his white boxers, smelling of soap and aftershave. Andy didn't notice Coach's approach. He was focused on a spread in the magazine showing the Master's competition earlier that year and one photograph in particular: Coach in his posers with his arm around Nick, a wrestler Andy knew who had won the Nationals three years previous and was now an active duty Marine. "You like that picture son?" Coach placed his hand on Andy's shoulder, softly gripping it. Andy's reflex was to pump his bicep, something Coach knew would happen. "Nick's a good kid. Great wrestler, not as good as you though, son." Coach explained further. "Wasn't ready to compete, but he came down to Austin to see me win the Masters. Good kid." Andy knew Nick as a hard core wrestler who spent a lot of time with Coach. "You look great, Coach," Andy said. He relaxed into the back of the chair, feeling both Coach's hands rubbing his shoulders. He spread his legs, his wrestling shoes hooked around the legs of the chair. "You want to compete, son?" Coach's hands were now resting on the straps of Andy's singlet. "Yes," Andy whispered. "Yes Sir." "What was that son, I didn't hear you," Coach barked. "Sir Yes Sir!" Andy barked back sounding every inch the Marine. Coach drew closer, his boxers now a few inches from the back of Andy's neck. "Good boy, we're gonna make that happen for you this year. You already have the size and definition. Just need to get you polished up, son." Andy's head leaned back, barely touching Coach's boxers. Coach's hands were now firmly planted on Andy's chest, the slick singlet material covering well defined pecs, the material stretching tightly over the deep rift between them. "Just relax, son, you deserve this." Coach slid his hands down over Andy's chest to his rock hard abs. Coach knew how it felt. He was a wrestler first, bodybuilding came after and from that. He knew Andy was exhausted and jacked up at the same time. He knew that smell of a hard-won match, the overdose of testosterone running through Andy's body. He knew exactly how a tight singlet felt, the smooth muscle drawing it tighter and tighter. He'd been coaching for almost 25 years now and could tell a real wrestler who wanted to be a bodybuilder from just a glance. He knew who were the muscle heads. He also knew how young muscle jocks reacted when they first put on their wrestling singlets. Most of them got hard immediately. They all got hard eventually, no matter how they tried. It's just what muscle jocks do when they're around a bodybuilder. Andy was different though. He was dedicated and hungry, Coach could tell. He bent over, his blond mustache barely scraping Andy's whitewalls. "You know I love you like a son, don't you Andy?" Andy nodded. "You always needed a muscle dad, haven't you?" Andy knew he did. And he wanted to call coach "dad" ever since he joined the team. Alone, at night, he thought of Coach as his dad, wanting to be beside him as he lowered his hand into his underwear and stroked himself off, each and every night. Sometimes he would whisper Coach's name as he shot ropes of cum onto his leg. Then using his wrestling practice tee, he'd clean up, saving a little bit to rub into his high 'n tight. "Yes, dad." Andy said softly. "Just you and me, son." Coach knew the boy was ready. He could see his champ's cock swelling against the leg of his singlet, could feel his heart beating quickly and the scent of muscle and sweat grew heavy in his nose. Coach reached down and placed his hand lightly on Andy's cock, rubbing it through the white singlet. He could feel the young muscle jock respond instantly, as if by rote, to his touch. The small spot of precum on Andy's singlet serving as enough lubricant for Coach's index finger that was rubbing the head of his star player's cock. Andy came hard and fast, the cum soaking the front of his singlet. He'd never felt something as powerful as this and it took him a few moments to regain any sense of himself. The wetness of his singlet made it cling to his cock and abs. Coach's hand rested on his balls, making sure that Andy knew he was still there. "There you go son. Now you know what being a bodybuilder is all about." Don stepped around the chair so that he stood in front of the spent young muscle jock. His own cock hard in his white boxers. He had worked up a sweat from jacking his son off. The raw masculinity of the act triggered a deep bond between them, so when Coach started to rub Andy's neck, it was natural for him to lean forward. Andy swallowed his Coach's cum like a natural. Coach's hands stroking his neck, he didn't have much choice, the reflex was too powerful. The taste was uncanny. And he greedily swallowed all of it, leaving Coach's cock glistening, clean and powerful. He stood in front of Andy, his feet spread shoulder width, his boxers around his ankles and rested his hand on the back of Andy's head. He looked down at the top of Andy's Marine cut and spat, rubbing it into the sharply cut hair. "Just you and me, champ," he said lowly. "Son." Coach exhaled, leaned forward and kissed Andy with a deep, forceful kiss that sealed the deal. They were bodybuilders, father and son, and they were locked tight in the smell, taste and muscle of true, intense masculinity. Don felt at home in the pump room of the competition. But it was Andy's first time and his excitement was contagious, making Don feel like a kid and a dad at the same time. The previous nine months were intense, for both of them. Andy had grown so quickly and solidly that Don wondered just how big he could get him, seeing the potential of a true bodybuilder. And Don worked even harder than usual to prepare for the competition wanting to be his best for his muscle son. His baseball sized bicep peaks had grown to softballs, his abs a clear eight pack and his back a map of dedication. Andy's progress was astounding. His frame showed of his genetics as well as his work with Coach in the gym. Perfectly square pecs were a cold 50", his biceps round and holding at 23", by far the largest of the group of competitors. His quads swelled under his shorts and the calves rose out of wrestling shoes to a perfect diamond. Don was damn proud and it showed. He had worked non-stop with Andy to get him ready and his expectations were exceeded. Don made sure his son had the tightest cuts, the mass where he needed and a tight, crisp high n tight to go with their shared USMC tats. They had spent almost all of their time together during training and the bond they first explored had become so tight that they didn't correct others when they assumed they were father and son. Indeed, Don was forming Andy into his own image. He took care of all the details: the grueling diet, the supplements, the gym fees. He even went so far as to make sure Andy dressed appropriately to his new stance as a bodybuilder, Not a muscle jock. Not an aspiring bodybuilder. A competition-ready bodybuilder. Don took care of the administrative stuff, booking the hotel room and registering them for the competition. He had made sure that they staid at the host hotel, so it wasn't far for Andy to take their bags up to the room. The woman at the front desk of the hotel assumed they were father and son and said so. Don said nothing to dissuade her from that. Andy gathered the bags, realizing one of them wasn't familiar but let it be. Carrying their heavy gear through the lobby, his white tank top stretched tight over his chest and his biceps naturally flexed, he saw a few of the older bodybuilders in the lobby stare and smile. He was at ease being surrounded by other muscle. It felt natural. No events were scheduled for the evening so Don wanted to be alone with Andy so they could focus on the next day's preliminaries. At 56, Don had been to over ten of these events and knew the scene very well. He walked towards the elevators, stopping to exchange handshakes and pats on the biceps with Master competitors he'd known for years. One, an old friend asked Don about the muscle jock he had seen. "That's my son," he replied with a smile. The friend nodded and smiled in return. He knew exactly what Don meant. Don was a natural coach, so when at the competition previously, he naturally drew the younger muscle heads asking for tips. And more. The word "gay" didn't have much weight in these situations. Muscle attracts muscle and it was unspoken what went on behind closed hotel doors even though every one knew. Don had the pick of the litter. A few years back he took care of a young cop from Baltimore who was so roided up he couldn't stop flexing as Don gave him the hand job of his life in the lobby bathroom. He left the cop panting, cum running down his uniform and sweat dripping onto his Dehners. Another year it was a young college muscle jock, a baseball player or football, Don didn't care but the guy didn't stand a chance on the stage but was so unbelievably into muscle that Don masterfully edged the poor kid for an hour before watching him cum on the mirror. And himself and Don. He taught the kid all about muscle worship that night, until the jock couldn't take it anymore. Little did he know that Don was slowly feeding of the kid's muscle. Swallowing his cum and licking the testosterone off his pores so that he would get bigger off of his work. The kid was spent but Don kept going, sucking him off three more times until the kid couldn't come anymore. The jock was in pain on the last orgasm, pleading with Don to stop. Don did blow a load onto the guy's face but by then it was too late and too little. The kid withdrew from the comp. This year was very different. Coach had a clear focus and knew exactly how to get his son to the finals. Don took visualizing winning very seriously. The two trained hard that night at the local Gold's, making sure Andy wore exactly what he told him to. A USMC tank top a size too small, a jock, Marine shorts and a pair of high top wrestling Otomix. By the time they got back to the hotel room, they were both jacked up, primed and ready for what was next. "There's a reason I wanted you to wear that gear, son." Don continued, "it's what I wore to prep for my first competition. I've been waiting for a true son to give it to." Andy reflexively tensed his pecs. ________________ The lightest touch could make Andy blow his load, so Don was careful, playing him as close and deftly as he could. And he could, very well. With each pass of his fingertips over his son's cock in his wrestling singlet, he edged Andy closer. Staring straight into his son's eyes as he gently brushed the USMC EG&A on his hard leg, the other hand just lightly feeling the precum ooze through the tight red fabric. Andy's knees were buckling, growing weaker with each stroke. His hips pushed forward at the top of each brushing movement. He couldn't help it. His arms were wrapped around Don's thick neck and stared back at his dad, giving up control of his muscular body to the one man who made it hard. When they embraced like this, they both knew it was more than a post-workout jack off, it was the result of Don building his son's body; bringing him nearer to perfection as his muscle son. Don knew every inch of Andy's body and Andy his. Don was the sculptor and Andy his creation in his own image: an all-American, blond Marine bodybuilder. His son's skin tanned and smooth, his blue eyes staring back at him as Don continued slowly stroking his son's cock in the official Marine Corps wrestling singlet he gave Andy. It was his at his age, and it felt natural. Andy's sweat was beginning to show on the chest of the singlet, mixing with his dad's previous scent in the material. Andy's eyes were rolling back and forth now, his cock hard as only his dad knew how to get it; the singlet material outlining his cock, thighs, ass, chest. Don leaned forward and spat into Andy's open mouth and delivered the final stroke to his son's cock. At that moment, Andy swallowed and let thick, pent up streams of cum flood his singlet. Nearly blacking out from the sensation he collapsed forward, his dad's enormous arms embracing him, slowly stroking his neck. Don reached down and held Andy's balls through the singlet material then took his finger and inserted it into Andy's mouth. Andy swallowed hungrily, just as he did his dad's cum minutes later. Just as he would continue to do as the young muscle jock grew larger from his dad's coaching. Don and Andy had become inseparable. Andy was growing fast, not only in bulk, but also in definition and attitude. His Marine stance, haircut and clothing all worked to make him look and act just like Don. Don brought Andy to a few competitions as an audience member but knew that soon, very soon the kid would be competition ready. He spent all his free time with Andy and controlled every aspect of his training in and out of the gym. And Andy grew into the role beautifully. He mimicked his dad's posture, dressed often in his old gear and spent every moment of his day trying to be more like him. The NPC Collegiate Competition was that weekend and Don had a surprise for him. Andy and would attend, but this time, Andy was going to compete. Don knew his son was ready to compete. His youthful muscle jock was now a formidable young bodybuilder, his chest now 52" and cut into perfect squares. The eight pack abdominal muscles were tight as a drum, his arms well machined pipes and his legs, already enviable from wrestling were now the shining, smooth powerhouses of a true bodybuilder. But Don wasn't taking any chances. Andy was going to make his dad the proudest and Don was going to make certain that Andy walked off that stage with the trophy in his hands. "Son, how badly do you want to compete?" Don knew the answer but he asked Andy. They were sitting in the hotel lobby having a quiet dinner before tomorrow's competition. "You know how badly I want to," Andy replied. "Good. You're ready now. I took care of all the paper work, you'll be in the light heavies." Don rose and placed a business card in front of Andy with a room number written on it. He patted his son's shoulder and let his thumb press against the whitewall on thee side of Andy's head. He knew he had to let Andy experience this on his own and left, heading up their room to finish the competition paperwork. ________________ In the elevator, Andy checked himself out in the mirror, preparing for something but he didn't know what. He was pumped at the image. A white Under Armor shirt with a high band for the collar, on which was embroidered "USMC." A quick flex in the mirror showed how skin tight the shirt was, his pecs and abs and biceps, even the traps were in high definition. The red white and blue stripes of his jock were just visible above the waistband of his 501s. Tight 501s tucked into his unlaced, spit polished leather Corcoran jump boots. The large EG&A belt buckle polished it off. He liked what he saw, every inch a Marine bodybuilder. The blond flattop, clean shaven face and a true muscle head. Walking down the hallway to the indicated hotel room, Andy checked out his profile in the decorative mirrors that lined the hall. He knew there were other people and was mindful to be discreet, but still, he really did like what he was seeing; becoming more comfortable in his skin. "How ya doin' son, Don said you'd be stopping by. Come on in. Name's Kurt." He extended his hand which Andy shook, Kurt placing his other hand around Andy's thick forearm and grasped them tight. "So," Kurt said, "looks like you're our newest competitor tomorrow for the Collegiate." He walked with Andy, arm around his shoulder drawing him into the room. Andy quickly scanned the room: Dehner boots in the corner, high polish. A uniform in dry cleaning plastic that he couldn't quite make out, a few suits hanging next to it. Muscle magazines on the bed and a stack of folders on the small table by the window, each with a picture clipped to the front. Andy felt comfortable, especially for meeting a stranger but he knew this was right and relaxed. "Don say's it's your first comp tomorrow," Kurt said as he looked down while pouring two glasses of single malt. "Tough comp to start with," Kurt handed the tumbler to Andy. "Prost!" Kurt said, slamming his glass against Andy's and they each drank, Andy coughing most of his up through his throat. Kurt slammed him on the back and let his hand run up his spine to rest on the back of Andy's high n tight. "Relax, old friend of Don's, served together and even competed a few times together. Beat his ass at the last Masters." Kurt took a Marine stance – shoulder wide – and held Andy's chin in his hand, tilting it upward. He looked concernedly at Andy's jaw, "you'll get rid of that five o' clock shadow tonight son." Andy nodded and looked into Kurt's steely gray eyes. "Sir, Yes Sir!" reflexively, Andy answered, his blue eyes staring back at Kurt's intense gaze. Determined, powerful and purely commanding. Andy flexed his pecs and he didn't know why. But it felt right. "Good, son, let's get you competition ready." Kurt stood solidly in front of Andy. Probably about dad's age, maybe a bit older, he was not as muscular as Don but more defined and agile. Gray, razor sharp flattop and gray mustache, Kurt was 6' 2", 235 of refined, well kept muscle. Perfectly shaved body except for a chest of gray hair closely cropped. He wore a taught white tank top with a symbol on front Andy didn't recognize. A thick black belt around his 34" waist held snug the cammo shorts. Like Andy, he wore Corcoran jump boots, unlaced, squarely defining the diamonds of his calves. This was, without doubt, a military man. A man's man who had been around muscle for a long time and had defined himself by that. Andy trusted him and felt comfortable as he only did when in the company of true muscle and masculinity. There was something about Kurt's stance that kept Andy's attention focused on the ripples of abs under the white tank top and the belt buckle, an insignia like the Marine's but not quite – somehow more elaborate. The V of Kurt's body kept drawing his eye to the belt buckle, the wide footed stance, Kurt's absolute presence, his stillness mesmerized Andy. Kurt placed his hand around the back of Andy's head and pulled him forward until his forehead rested only inches away from the belt buckle. "That's it, son, relax." Kurt stroked Andy's nape briskly. "We're gonna get you ready for the comp, champ." "First thing we're going to do is take an overall of you, son," Kurt said to the top of the Marine's head. "So stand up and let's get a look at you." Andy complied. Tuned into the masculinity in the room, he stood at parade rest, arms behind his waist as he pushed his chest forward and flexed harder than he ever did before. Kurt circled behind him, taking a stance directly behind him so that he was slightly askance, both could see Andy's body in the mirror standing leaned against the wall. Andy was focused like never before. This was a different feeling than what he had with Don. "The first thing is to relax, to own your place on the stage," Kurt almost whispered into Andy's neck. "Be proud of your work, the dedication, the growth." Kurt was directly behind Andy and his arms were on his shoulders. "Square your shoulders with your feet." Andy complied, and anticipated what Kurt would ask next by raising his head so that his jaw was square. He wanted to present the profile of a muscle Marine. "Son, I'm going to get you ready to compete for the first time so I need you to pay attention and to relax as we go through this. My buddy Don got you this far – and he did a damn great job – but I'm here to polish you up, get you prepared and honestly, son, get you to win the comp, so trust me and I'll do ya right." Andy nodded. "Good boy, don't talk, just listen and respond naturally." Andy nodded again. There's a feeling only bodybuilders can sense when they come together. Kurt ran his hands over Andy's pecs, lightly, feeling the slick material contain the swelling muscle. "I know, son, don't fight it, I know you can't help flexing. I want you to flex wherever I touch." Andy nodded, feeling more comfortable. The kid's pecs were perfection and Kurt knew it. Slowly, calmly, he ran his fingertips down the abs, strumming them like a clothed guitar. Andy stood, leaning back slightly to tense the eight pack. He felt Kurt's hands stroking his abs through the skin tight shirt. "Son, your dad did a damn good job. I was in the audience at the Nationals, kid, you were prime then. Damn, Don did a good job." Kurt enjoyed stroking the kid further, getting him off on his own muscle and his own achievements. "Don't worry, buddy, I know how you two get along. And I'm not interfering with that, just here to help you reach a potential you didn't know you had." Kurt's hands rested one hand on his belt buckle, the other on Andy's. "Feel ready, kid?" Kurt and Andy stood stock still at attention. Kurt, pressing his pecs against Andy's traps and back, feeling the sweat and heat rise through the flexed muscle through his shirt. He reached around, Kurt's own massive, baseball biceps embracing Andy's traps and held onto his belt buckle with both hands. "Time to try something new, Marine." Kurt unbuckled the Marine's buckle, an act that would get any other man killed with his nose shoved into his cranium. But Andy stood still, flexing hard. Sweating hard. The white Under Armor shirt becoming part of his body. Kurt leaned his head forward so that his gray mustache brushed Andy's ear. "It's all about muscle, son." Kurt flicked the buckle open, letting the motion of his fingers continue to flow and stroke the band of Andy's jock. "Easy son, time to show off the work." "Don gave you his gear, didn't he, boy?" Andy nodded. "You're wearing his gear right now like you do every day. Gave you this shirt he wore when he was your age, right? This jock?" Kurt stroked the collar band where the USMC emblem, the Eagle, Globe & Anchor stretched over Andy's thick wrestler's neck. Kurt's other hand ran softly over Andy's left bicep. Andy, without thinking flexed it harder than ever before, the baseball peak stretching the Under Armor material into a perfect mound. Kurt stroked it back and forth and held it in his hand. He gave a broad smile to Andy who was staring intently at his own bicep. "That's it, son. Focus on how that feels. Feels good, doesn't it?" Andy nodded, too focused to speak. Kurt kept stroking the muscular pipe. "It's all about muscle, son. That's the whole point of bodybuilding, son. To get off on your own muscle." Kurt reached into the open front of Andy's jeans and let his hand rest on the Marine's jock. He didn't stroke it, just let it hold Andy's cock and balls. As he continued to stroke the bicep, Kurt felt Andy's cock stiffen and his hips begin to move back and forth. "That's it son. Only true bodybuilders know how this feels. You're not a muscle jock anymore, son. You're becoming the bodybuilder you always wanted to be, right?" Andy moaned, speeding up the thrusts of his hips against Kurt's hand on his jock, precum soaking the cotton mesh of his – and his dad's – jock. "You stopped looking at them in the magazines wanting to be near them, now you want to be them, isn't that right? You want to take over their muscle and make it your own. I know son, true muscle heads know it, the feeling. You want to wear their gear and own their muscle, I'm right aren't I? You want to be your dad, don't ya?" Andy was close to coming. Kurt could sense it. Andy had tilted his head back, slowly moaning and Kurt obliged by rubbing the kid's neck harder and with more meaning. Andy's entire body was now getting hard. Kurt removed his hand from Andy's jock and watched as he kept moving his hips, flexing every muscle in his body. Kurt had achieved his goal, he had Andy to the point of thinking only of his own muscled body, about being a bodybuilder, about getting off on his muscle like never before. Kurt stepped back, watching the kid fucking the air and staring at how his pecs formed two perfect squares under the material. "You'd wear nothing else but his jock and boots, right? Bet he gave you all his gear." Kurt moved his thumbs up under the white shirt. He lifted it up to expose the abs and then higher and Andy rested from flexing his guns and raised his arms in submission to allow Kurt to remove the shirt with a sharp tug over his head. Andy's smooth torso glistened from the sweat, his abs tight and perfectly forming an extended eight pack. Silence. "Now, boy, we got some work to do. Time to get you deeper into muscle. Competing isn't fun. It's hard work. And you need to be ready. Take off the jeans and the boots and yer socks. And the jock." Kurt barked. "At ease." Kurt knew how to speak to a young Marine. Eying him as he rounded the stud. A perfect specimen, Kurt thought. Perfect for this type of training. Stripped of his gear, nude, Andy still had this feeling of being fully present. "OK, buddy. First things first. You're gonna need to shave down." A hand around his neck, strong and guiding, Kurt pushed Andy towards the bathroom. Obviously Kurt knew in advance what he needed to do since he had already put a chair in the bathroom and had laid out several safety razors, a straight edge, various bottles and a stack of towels. Not that Andy needed a lot of shaving. His blond hair was already a sharp high n tight flattop and Kurt didn't need to touch it, it looked regulation and sharp as it should. His pecs were already polished smooth, It was just the legs that needed to be shaved of a light, blond peach fuzz. That and a good face shave and he'd be smooth as any competitor. Truth be told, the kid could have taken care of this easily, but Kurt thought that he needed the psychological boost and Kurt, well he wanted to inspect the kid more closely and get into his head a bit. Don had shaved him before, but this was a pro job. "Shaving's important, kiddo, most bodybuilders don't pay much attention to it but it can make or break a ranking." Kurt began to heat up a towel and placed it on Andy's head, tilting him back with a finger. "Just relax a few minute." Kurt starting organizing his tools, but kept looking into the mirror behind him. Andy's pecs were perfect with a deep cleave between them. His legs were unbelievably muscular from the years of wrestling. Kurt shook his head and grew a little jealous of Don. Andy's cock rested on his quads. Kurt took off the towel and lathered the face heavily. Not much to say, Kurt paid close attention with the straight edge and cleaned his face so not one piece of stubble remained. Standing behind the seated muscle jock, Kurt was getting hard staring down at the perfect looking Marine, his cock beginning to press hard against the restriction of his jock. Kurt ran his hand over Andy's razor sharp flattop. "You used Marine hair gel, don'tcha?" Kurt asked. Andy smiled, feeling bonded with another Marine who knew that "gel" meant a good load of cum from jacking off in the morning and rubbed into the hair to make it stand up and extra sharp. Kurt sat on the rim of the bathtub, pulled the legs of his cammo shorts up high so that his own smooth, muscular legs were bared. He flexed as he brought Andy's leg up and rested it on his leg. He started at the ankle and moved up, against the grain to make it extra smooth. He'd stop occasionally and rub oil on the newly shaved patch. Both legs didn't take long and Kurt poured more oil on them, massaging it into Andy's legs, flexed and alternately relaxed. "OK, bud, stand up for the next part. Still sitting on the bathtub lip, Andy stood at parade rest in front of Kurt. "Spread the legs wider, son." He felt Andy jump a bit when he placed his hand on Andy's upper thigh. His thumb and index finger to stretch the skin between his pelvis and thigh. "Don't sweat it bud," Kurt said staring at the hair he was about to remove. "Gotta shave all of it, son." Andy was a little awkward and looked aside, but Kurt was determined with a straight edge. He swiped the area clean with efficiency, his knuckles occasionally brushing Andy's cock and balls. "Alright buddy, stand real still for this last part." Kurt held Andy's balls in his hand and looked up to make sure the kid was doing OK. "Yup, son, smooth as a baby's ass, balls too." Andy took a deep breath. He never had this feeling of a warm hand and lather on his balls before and his cock responded by twitching a bit. Andy could sense the beginning of a hard on he couldn't resist and he looked up, clearly uncomfortable. Kurt knew what was happening to the muscle jock. "Don't worry son," Kurt said. "I've shaved a lot of competitors and it happens all the time. Ya can't help it. Don't worry son. Just between us, just between two bodybuilders." Andy took a deep breath and looked down as Kurt finished shaving and took the posing oil bottle in his hand. He applied a thick coat, massaging it into Andy's balls and inner thigh. This really triggered a full erection. "Just between us Marines," Kurt whispered and doused Andy's cock in warm oil, grabbed his cock in a fist and began stroking, twisting his hand as he went up and down the kid's cock. Andy let out a deep moan, moving back and forth as Kurt worked his cock. "Oh god, I'm gonna cum," Andy exhaled. "That's it buddy, just a regulation Marine hand job. No one needs to know but us, Marine muscle to Marine muscle." Andy placed both his arms on Kurt's shoulders, watching the older bodybuilder's bicep and traps flex and relax as he ran his calloused hand over his cock. "Oh, coach." Andy was close. "That's it son, just like your wrestling coach did for ya in school after a match, right? Fucking stroked you off every time you won and a few times when you didn't right?" Andy nodded, breathing heavily. Kurt varied the rhythm, keeping Andy close but not letting him cum just yet. Kurt was enjoying getting into what drove this jock to be a bodybuilder. "You blew him a few times, didn't ya?" Kurt didn't need to look up to know that Andy was nodding, he knew it was true. It always was, so he continued his line of questioning to turn the muscle jock into a bodybuilder, getting him focused on muscle and muscle worship. "Big guy, your wrestling coach huh? Married, probably couldn't keep his hands off you. Turned you onto muscle I bet, making sure the muscle mags were out in his office, trained with him privately at his house, I'm sure. Taught you how to pose, probably worked out together bare chested, huh?" Andy was so close his head tilted back and his eyes shut, he was flexing without even thinking about it, involuntarily. "Gave you his old singlet from his college days, didn't he. And you wore it all the time, jacking off in it pretending it was him, I know. I jack off a lot of young muscle jocks son. They all fall in love with their coach. You all need older muscle to teach ya all about how muscle feels, you need that bond. One muscle jock to another. Nothing wrong with an older muscle man helping out his champ, son." Deep inside his head, Andy knew he needed this, he needed this understanding of his drive to compete, to be around and part of muscle. He was beginning to understand what that meant finally and he could barely see straight. A small tear from the stimulation dropped from his eye; a bit of spit drooled down his cheek. He was lost in what Kurt was telling him about himself. "I know son, I'll get ya off," Kurt whispered. Probing deeper, "There's a special bond between muscle jocks and their coach's son. You needed coach to make you a man, I know. But now you need another type of coach. A bodybuilding coach who understands your needs. That's why your dad sent ya to me son. Knew you'd trust another Marine, an older Marine bodybuilder to show you how powerful that bond is. Been doing this for years buddy, helping out young muscle jocks get bigger, find their coach, getting 'em off on muscle off before they even knew they needed it." Kurt spread his legs further apart in a solid Marine stance, his boots inches away from Andy's. He ran his finger under Andy's balls, the oil lubricating the touch so that it sent jolts of excitement coursing through Andy's body, forcing him to flex involuntarily. "That's it, show coach your muscle, flex your bicep son. You used to do with this your wrestling coach in your singlet I bet, while he stroked you off, telling you how muscular you were, drowning you in his pecs and rubbing the back of your high n tight. I knew he did. Couldn't help himself. It's natural, son, coach cared about you – loved you – wanted you to become his muscle jock. Started by priming you up in the gym, got ya going, took ya to his office so you could both look at – who was it, who was your favorite? Cutler? Priest?" Andy moaned "coach." "Yup, jacked off with him over muscle mags at first until that day when he took of his shirt and flexed for you... just for you in private, didn't he? You jacked off right there still wearing your wrestling gear. Remember how that felt? Huh? Your cock hard in that skin tight singlet? The straps stretching over your pecs? Right? Still jack off to that don't ya?" Andy was so fired up he didn't realize that Kurt had stopped stroking his cock. He stood in front of Andy now who was nearly sitting on the edge of the bathroom counter, his glutes two solid, flexed globes. His cock standing straight up and dripping enough precum that it was running down his cock and mixing with the oil on his leg. Kurt slowly massaged the precum into Andy's muscle. "You want to do that one more time, huh? Be with coach one more time, say it Marine." He didn't wait for the answer, it was clear what this jock needed, what all muscle jocks yearn for as they get bigger. "Put this on," Kurt commanded. He reached into his gym bag and tossed Andy a singlet. The singlet. The singlet that he wore when he and coach bonded. Don had saved it and gave it to Kurt before the two met, knowing that his son had to be with his old coach one more time before he could move forward and become the bodybuilder that he wanted. Andy's jaw dropped and looked quizzically at Kurt who just nodded and said "and these" and handed him his old beat up Asics wrestling boots. He then walked into the bedroom, leaving the kid to gear up. The distraction let Andy's cock relax to half hard but was still pumping out precum, enough to soak a small part of the singlet where his cock was held in place by the stretched cloth. He checked out the bag further and found his head gear. He strapped himself into the gear without questioning any of it. It was a natural act he did with coach before each match. His mind was on autopilot. He missed his old coach and he was getting one more chance to see the coach he looked to as a father before meeting Don. "Real muscular guy, right?" Kurt shouted from the bedroom. "Yes Sir," Andy yelled back. He stood in front of the mirror, letting all the old smell and sweat and dried cum flood back into his body, mindlessly rubbing his flexed pecs. He had grown considerably since then, so the singlet was skin tight, flatter against his abs, but stretched across his pecs and quads. It was exactly how he remembered it. White, two red stripes running down the side. The boots, beaten up but still a respectful all white. The headgear strapped tight. Andy felt that something intense was about to happen. But he felt at ease, like he had returned home and knew where everything was, what was expected of him and how to do it. "So if Don's right he was a cop, right? Volunteer coach?" Kurt asked as he rustled with something Andy couldn't make out from the noise alone. "Yes, Sir, State Trooper." Andy could hear heavy footfalls approaching the bathroom, but he was lost in his own image in the mirror. "Let's take a look at ya, son. Come here." Kurt didn't doubt that the kid would obey his orders. "Heh champ, welcome back. Looking good." The high spit polish Dehners struck Andy's eyes first. Kurt's massive calves pushed the back of the Dehner boots to their limit. The tan breeches so tight around his thighs, the stripe down the side curved to accommodate them. Duty belt slung just above bulge that was pronounced and full. Kurt's eight pack abs allowed a small space between the belt and his abs. His torso was clad in a skin tight, navy blue Under Armor long sleeve shirt with a high collar, CHP embroidered on the side. His chest drawing the material so tightly that it stretched across his two pecs without touching the skin. His biceps, cold, filled the sleeves in perfect proportion. Chin up, flattop and a big, welcoming smile finished the image. Andy didn't say "coach" so much as breathed it as one would in reverence to a long lost friend. Kurt stood solid, still and with force. He placed his hands at parade rest behind his back and widened his stance so that his chest thrust forward and his cock pushed even more tightly against the uniform material. He set his pecs into a solid but relaxed flex. Andy drew closer. Without words, he stood in front of his coach and reached out, just pressing on Kurt's pecs, running his hands, and eyes, over his coach's chest, feeling the warmth under the tight, tan shirt. Both their gazes turned serious and focused. Kurt effortlessly raised his left arm, turned his head to stare at it and offered a bicep curl directly in front of Andy's face. "Go ahead champ, just like we always did, feel coach's muscle." Andy ran his hands over Kurt's 25" biceps, lingering on the peak and feeling the solid weight of the muscle. "Oh coach, I missed you Sir." Andy leaned his head forward and rested it on Kurt's pecs. Exhaling. Kurt wrapped his arm around Andy's neck. "You know I love you like a son," Kurt spoke lowly. "You know how proud I am of you son?" Kurt hit the "s" in "son" with emphasis to drive the point home. "Watching you at the meet today made me really proud, watching how your muscles reacted, your determination to win, your pride. I want you to feel how proud I am of you son." Both stood with erections in their uniforms. Not an aching, lustful hard on but a sense of true masculinity growing in their bodies, of having found one another and forming a tight bond. Kurt ran his hand down the side of Andy's singlet, following the path of the two red stripes, curving over his jock's thigh and ass. He let his hand wander to the front of the singlet and held his hand, motionless on the tight bulge, not moving his hand, only wanting to connect. "It's OK son, just between us, just between coach and his muscle jock." With his hand around his neck, Kurt flexed his arm and turned Andy towards the table. There lie a stack of muscle mags, old ones, dog-eared and slightly fading. He opened one of them to a marked page. "That's the one, isn't it?" Andy nodded while staring at an old picture of Matarazzo in his prime. Sharp flattop, tanned and massive. "Mine too, son." Kurt stood behind Andy and placed his hands on the straps of his singlet. "That's it, look harder, focus on the muscle, son." Kurt's hands ran over his jock's pecs and biceps, feeling Andy get into the known and comfortable sensation of flexing for his coach without even thinking of doing it. "You like getting jacked up like that don't you, son? Pumped from working out with coach at his home gym, waiting for me to get off duty?" Andy didn't have to speak, Kurt knew exactly what to say to plug into the kid's psyche. "Just the two of us son, jacking iron in the garage, pushing each other. I know you like it when I lift with you son, still wearing this uniform," Kurt pressed his duty belt hard against Andy's back. "Turning you into a hardcore muscle jock, watching your muscle flex, together, just flexing together. Any man would be proud to have you as his son, his All-American Marine muscle jock. They'd probably give their left nut just to be doing what comes naturally between us, Andy, just to flex and feel our bodies hard against each other." Andy's cock was full and heavy, laying against his right quad, the precum slicking up the singlet, making every move, every flex of his leg feel like a stroke of his coach's hand. "You want to get jacked up with coach, don't you? Feel that pump together? Make coach proud?" Andy nodded and absentmindedly raised his left hand and mirrored coach's bicep curl. Kurt stroking his bicep and letting his hand run over Andy's newly shaved armpit, letting his sweat permeate and cling to his fingers. "Let's do it, Marine!" Coach barked and Andy knew exactly what to do. Coach cleared a space and they both dropped, perfectly set on the four points of their boots and two hands. Both knew from PT in the Corps how to execute push ups and they did this before and after each lifting session. The hotel room faded and they were both back in coach's garage, Andy in his post-meet wrestling gear, coach in his police uniform. They knocked out 25 with no problem, Kurt barking the reps like the drill sarge he was. Andy responded like the Marine he was by pushing harder to make his coach prouder. After the second 25, both were getting harder, the sweat soaking their uniforms, inhaling each others testosterone. They both were pushing themselves to get bigger, more muscular, closer to each other through muscle-bonding. "Stand up son." "Make coach proud, buddy." Andy sat on his heels. "You know what to do, son." Kurt took a step closer, both their bodies moving in unison as they breathed hard to recover from the workout. Kurt put his hand on the back of Andy's head and stepped up. Andy placed his hands on the back of coach's Dehners and began by burying his nose into coach's police breeches. "That's it son. Aw fuck, son. You're gonna make me blow my load in my uniform." Andy sucked hard on coach's cock through the material. "Fuck son, that's it. Yeah. My young Marine muscle jock, fucking bodybuilder jock." Kurt was losing it. He didn't intend to get this far, he knew he was role playing, but this was more than he thought possible. He was getting into the scene as much as Andy and it felt different than any other time. He'd played with some serious collegiate muscle. Big guys, heavyweights. They all ended up in some muscle worship scene and they all blew their loads like they never did before. Kurt especially liked the college jocks who didn't know why they were so starved for his muscle. Wrestlers, football, baseball players, they all responded to an older bodybuilder. But this. This was something entirely different. He was getting off on his own muscle in this uniform, with this kid on an entirely new level. He never lost control and came like this before. Andy's need for his muscle was overwhelming. Fuck Don. He got there first. Kurt could easily take this jock to the next level and more, be his real dad more than Don, but fuck, they were friends and ya just don't do that. But Andy was bringing him to the edge and the jock knew what he was doing. "Ah son, that's it, get coach off son." Kurt was becoming Andy's coach and Andy was becoming his muscle son. Both were losing focus on their roles, on the parameters. This was becoming real. Coach would come home directly from his shift still in full uniform. He knew Andy liked seeing him in his gear, the tight uniform showing off his coach's bodybuilder build. The sharp police uniform made Andy draw even closer to him. Likewise, coach made sure that Andy kept all his gear on after the match. The singlet accentuated the young muscle jock's tight frame, his cock, always half hard after a meet like most wrestlers' had a pronounced round bulge. Something natural about an older muscle cop being with an aspiring bodybuilder, a young Marine who stood tall and proud, showing off his muscle to his coach, pushing himself hard to please his coach. Kurt was thinking of Andy more and more as his son, the son he wanted badly, to grow into a perfectly refined example of masculinity and muscle. He was too far gone, he couldn't stop this anymore. Kurt lost control. "Oh fuck son, what are you doing to me... aw fuck!" Kurt arched his back, his muscular pecs stretching the navy blue Under Armour CHP shirt tight, his nipples visible. He paused breathing as he felt the massive power of his cock explode inside the CHP trooper uniform. He'd come in posers before and in his jock. But he never came in a cop uniform before. It felt awesome, adding a new level of muscle to his head. The orgasm was complete, fully flooding his body and brain. His huge load absorbed slowly by the breech material. He could hardly stand, balancing himself on Andy's shoulders and head. The kid kept sucking, drinking his coach's cum through the material. Kurt flexed like a spasm, a wave of muscle rushing over his body. This is what he was seeking with all those others jock. True muscle sex. Kurt was always the top. Always. Even when muscle worshiping with the other muscle jocks, the young muscle always worshiped him, always shot their load first and at Kurt's command. But now, well, now he was going to help Andy out and help him discover a level of muscle worship he didn't knew existed. Kurt lifted Andy up by his hairless pits, slick with sweat. He stood him before the mirror and stood behind him. The two bodybuilders stared at each others reflections. "Come on champ, show coach what ya can do," Kurt ran his hands down the straps of Andy's singlet, now wet with sweat and precum. He looked enormous in the singlet, chiseled muscle, the white singlet showing off his tanned skin, his blue eyes and blond hair. Kurt lowered his hand and just brushed the tip of Andy's cock through the material. Deeply entwined in the actual coach's identity, Kurt didn't distinguish anymore. Andy was his boy if even for this session only. "Just relax son, show coach how hard you've been working out. Show me that muscle, son. Just like you did for coach in his office after winning the Nationals." Kurt's hand now pressed against Andy's hard cock in his wrestling gear. In the mirror stood an All-American wrestler, his pecs punched out, his cock clearly outlined in his sweaty singlet getting jacked off by his coach. "That's it show coach how much you love him, boy. Your a daddy's boy aren't you son? Like being around older muscle? Safe with me son, gonna make you my own muscle jock. I looked a lot like you at your age," Kurt ran his hand harder the full length of Andy's shaft, getting his cock ready. Andy moaned but kept his eyes open, staring at his own body as he flexed. "C'mon muscle jock, show dad what you're working on. Like coach jacking you off, I know, only the best for ya son, only between us." Kurt positioned himself closer to get more leverage on Andy's cock. He grabbed it through the material and started stroking slowly but solidly, making the precum act as a lube so the fabric rubbed his cock for its full length on each stroke. "Just like coach did, right son? Get you off in your singlet; the singlet he gave you. His singlet. Jacked you off for a long time until you couldn't control it anymore and shot a load in your gear, just like you're going to do for me right now son. C'mon son, be my Marine muscle son. Bond with coach's muscle. Be coach's bodybuilder like you always wanted. You are a bodybuilder son." Andy was silent when he came, but he was forceful. Kurt held his cock in his fist and felt it surge with power, pulsing out enormous amounts of cum with such force it pushed the cum through the singlet and ran over Kurt's fingers and down his leg. Andy wasn't breathing until the last spasm shot through him, still ejaculating even though he had spent his load. Near collapse, Kurt held him up, Andy leaning back on his chest, breathing heavily. Kurt steered him towards the bed where he lie down beside him, his arm over the jock's chest. Both exhausted, they fell asleep not knowing the time or even the day, but they did know they were bonded, that Andy finally got to be with his old coach for one more time and that Kurt was calling him "son" in his mind as they both fell into a deep sleep. ________________ Don knew it would take as much time as needed to have Kurt work Andy. They both agreed. The bond between Don and Kurt was rock solid, so he didn't have any concern about his boy being hurt or freaked out or even shy. He was, in fact proud of him for taking this next step. When he asked Kurt to help him out, Kurt simply nodded, held Don's shoulder and said "don't worry buddy, anything for you and your son." But not having Andy around the first night was difficult, he had grown used to having the kid around, not even for sex. Just hanging tight with a young muscle head, talking about training, being lazy bums together, just regular guy stuff. He had to admit that he missed his son, if even a little bit. But that was for others, Don rested solidly on his foundation with Andy and he was just distracted in his hotel room that night by a hot shower, shaving with extra precision, being a narcissistic bodybuilder and generally just shuffling around in his boxers and tank top watching bad television. He also knew it might be a day or two before Andy returned. Kurt had a lot to teach. Don was responsible for getting the old wrestling gear and the cop gear. He wanted nothing but the rel thing for his son so he had some strings pulled, favors called in. He knew Andy would appreciate the fact that it was the real stuff and probably reacted to the unique smell of a man before anything. "Good for him, I'm glad." The next morning, Don knew he had to get out and do something, just not sit around and wait. So he decided to go for a run. Too much lifting without cardio was always his downfall, so he suited up in his old beat up, twenty year old Corps sweats and jump boots and was out the door at 04:30. "Name's Doug." Don looked up and found a guy limbering up next to him against the wall, obviously going for a run also. "Don," he extended his hand and shook. "Going on the west path towards the beach? Could use a running bud." Don nodded, smiled and said sure, he'd like a running bud too. They started slow but hit a mutual rhythm soon enough. In between exhales, they talked in staccato blurbs. Marine Corps. Son competing. Yes, Masters competitor years ago. Doug responded with 43. Sales rep. Engineering material. Just at competition as a fan. Right at the entrance of the beach, they took a break. It was a hard four mile run at an easy pace, but it seemed like a good resting point. Just two jocks talking during a break. Doug was from Chicago and obviously doing well. Wore the latest Under Armour running gear which costs a fortune Don knew since he was pricing it out for him and Andy. And truth be told, while Doug went on about his wife and his own bodybuilding efforts, Don was looking at how he filled out the material. Not a heavyweight, not even mid, but the 43 year old sales rep from Chicago had a damn good, solid body on him. Maybe 48" chest, 18 peaked guns, good solid wheels, not bad. 6" maybe 5"11 Don guessed. Not military ever, Don thought, the hair was short but not too much so to classify as military. Brown. Clean cut guy. Seemed OK in his book. Obviously a muscle head. "Next 5 miles in under 0:25," Don barked. Doug, still trying to figure out this Don guy jumped, said "OK Chief" and they hit the path running, the ocean to their left, leading towards the less popular spots. Doug peppered him with questions as they ran harder. How long in the Corps, tell me about comps, asked some training tips and diet questions. General stuff. But as they ran harder, the questions faded and they were getting winded and slipped in the mode of just two jocks running. It might have been the lack of focus that caused Doug to trip over some driftwood close to the five mile mark. "Damnit." Doug was sitting up massaging his ankle. "Fucking stupid." "Can you walk?" Don asked, snapping it Marine mode. Doug attempted to stand and immediately crumpled over, but made it to the standing position with Don's help and limped about. "Old college football injury – comes and goes." Doug, obviously pissed at himself. "Don't worry buddy, got a lot of scars, I'll fix ya up." It was cool, not cold in the dawn. But Don took off his USMC sweatshirt and gave it to Doug to put on, kneeling before him examining the ankle in his white tank top that had become his daily uniform lately. Doug tried to refuse but Don gave him a Marine stare that convinced the guy that he had no option other than to piss off a bodybuilder Marine by not putting it on. "Yup, ya gashed it bad bud," Don spoke to the leg, "need to clean it out. Ripped the gear up." "Fuck, I just bought this shit, expensive as hell. Oh well." Don hated when civilians whined. Don stood up, shoved out his chest, exhaled and looked around. He spotted an open-air type of restroom structure and thought must be running clean water there. In the voice that comes naturally to a Marine, he barked "GIT UP, we're walking to that over there and we'll bandage ya up and get you mobile 'cause I sure as hell ain't dragging you around all the back to the hotel." Doug responded as any guy would. He sucked it up, put an arm around Don's massive shoulder and limped his way like a wounded soldier to the latrine. He went on about how sorry he was and what can he do to thank him and all pretty much nonsense to Don who was just helping out another jock. Finally he had enough of this bullshit and yelled at him to "shut the fuck up!" And he did. Until he started apologizing again. God, Don hated civilians. Don was a man of action, not of thought in these conditions. The guy was bleeding heavily. Nothing life threatening but if untreated, he could loose too much. He leaned Doug against the cement wall, swiping the air-blown sand away from him. Sat him down and examined the situation up close. The branch tore a small hole in his tight Under Armour gear but it went deep, causing the capillaries to rush blood to an open wound. He had to get the wound clear. Not an emergency, but wanted to make sure he was OK to get back to the road without making the wound worse. He reached up and found the waistband of the Under Armour running tights and pulled them down. "Whoa, Sarge, ya think that's necessary? I mean..." He skittered closer to the wall, palms firmly planted. Don didn't have time for this and said "yes" and gave another look that shut the guy down. Tough going with the running tights man, they were skin tight and Don had to make sure they cleared the wound without tearing anymore skin. So he was real slow, undid the sneakers and with great care rolled the cloth over the wound. Without a word, Don proceeded. Doug was just staring now, not wanting to get this guy pissed off. He was taking care of him like a Marine and he relaxed knowing that he was in the best care possible. Don filled his hands with water from the faucet and rinsed the wound. Back and forth from the bathroom sink several times, paying close attention to get any dirt or sand out, handpicking wood splinters out. Now that Don could see that the extent of the naked wound would require stitches, he took off his tank top and wrapped it around Doug's leg, pinching the nerve in his knee that makes his calf relax and wound it tight to protect it. Doug was in pain and rested his head against the cool cement blocks of the wall, totally giving up to the Marine's superior skill. "Man, thanks, I don't know what..." Don looked at him sternly. He shut up. Don took off his Marine sweats and started rolling up Doug's legs carefully. "You need to keep warm until I can go get some professional help." Doug felt warm in this guy's gear. Deeply warmed and looked down at the USMC emblem and felt safe, warm, taken care of. "Let's see the neck," Don said, knowing Doug took a deep abrasion when he fell. Doug knew better than to object by now and pulled off the USMC sweatshirt and pulled the collar down on his Under Armour shirt. Don felt for the waist on the shirt and pulled it up, triggering Doug to raise his hands. He rolled it over his head and then carefully over the neck. "Goddamn stupid grunt getting yerself banged up on a run." Don whispered under his breath automatically. "Yes, sir, sorry sir." Doug didn't know where that came from but it seemed appropriate and registered acceptance on Don's face. "Stay here." There was no option for Doug. He staid. In his jock Don left the beach bathroom and scouted the territory. The wind had picked up and by Don's reckoning, they had ran well beyond five miles out into the National Park area of the beach. "Fuck." Don sat beside Doug against the cold cement, told him it might take a while and hunkered down into a curled sitting position, trying to conserve heat as it began to rain outside. "My boy's competing tomorrow," Don stated. "Can't miss that." "Hell no, won't happen," Doug stated and put his hand around Don's shoulders. "You're cold guy, put on my gear, it's rated for winter." Don turned to him. "Serious, you're doing more for me than I am for you, do it." Don stood up and exhaled. His old jock wrapping around steel wrought iron pelvic bones, his cock flaccid but it filled out the pouch. With no words, he picked up the gear and inspected it. "My kid's really into this gear, been trying to get me to wear it." "Fuck yeah you should with that build. Best for muscle. I wear it all the time. Even gets me off when I wear it." Doug slinked back from that comment, thinking maybe he went too far. "Here man, you got to roll it on at your size, don't try to yank it down." Doug tried to get up and halfway made it. "Like this," Doug made with the Marine's sweatshirt. Don rolled the pants up from his ankles, over his quads and snapped the waistband on his 34 waist. "Fuck, this is it," Don thought. "Now with the shirt, you got to relax the arms and chest, roll it over the neck like this:" Doug tried with the shirt but hit a raw nerve and clenched down. They both stared at Don. Don in his mind's eye about how he looked cause he felt more powerful than in years. Doug was amazed to see a real life superhero, a bodybuilder Marine in his own gear. Don flexed. And then flexed his legs, the material clinging to him. He flexed his pecs, the white rimming making it larger, the collar expanding around his neck. He couldn't stop flexing, he lost his bearings. The material was skin tight and Doug, sitting in Don's own gear looked like a defeated jock. As a favor to a bud and a good sized muscle bud, Don reached down underneath Doug's waistband and stroked him off. Doug, protesting he was married with kids, finally relaxed and blew a load in the gear, knowing he had lost it to a worthier muscle Marine. Don made him shoot in the sweats and told him "there, we're even, you got a hand job from a bodybuilder like you always wanted and you get to keep his gear and I get to wear this and watch my son compete tomorrow. See you there." Don took out his cell phone he had all along and called 911 and filled them in. Don ran back to the hotel at a slow pace, feeling his muscle sculpt the new skin tight Under Armour. Don slipped in quietly from the side door, but people noticed. He was in the pre-comp conference where trainers, promoters and ad sponsors got the last news before the formal competition. The run had gotten Don pumped. The new gear helped a lot to show it off. Anywhere else, he might be looked at with surprise. Here, among bodybuilders and muscle heads and jocks who knew muscle, he was not a focal point. He was sweaty from the run. It made the gear cling to him. Even the better. Doug had good taste, buying the best gear available. Even a few of the true underground Under Armour heads didn't knew this gear existed. White bands under heavy shoulder black made his biceps pronounced, even when not flexed. He breathed heavy. This was muscle home and he felt comfortable. The skin tight running tights new to him, the broad stripe down the leg a lot like his Marine Blood Stripe, he stood proud, his cock half hard as all bodybuilders' are... all the time. They can't help it, the testosterone fills it. His cock was his cock and it was hard in skin tight lycra and he thought, "look at it." He was a true Marine bodybuilder. Standing at the back, he could easily ignore the bullshit commercial promotion in front. Instead, he scanned the room for his son. He didn't know why the urgency, just missed him. A lot. The he saw the back of Kurt's head. Unmistakable Marine high n tight and muscle neck. He slid next to him on the folding chair and put his arm around him. Said "buddy." Without moving his gaze, Kurt slid his hand around Don's waist and flexed. Don flexed in his new gear. It was the silent handshake of bodybuilders. They sat and listened, while they slowly stroked one muscle group at a time. "Let's go to your room to talk, just between us, bud," Kurt said into his ear. No words are needed between friends like Don and Kurt. They stood up and went to his room with purpose. "Where'd ya get that gear, it's damn hot buddy," Kurt smiled as he watched his bodybuilding buddy walk in front of him. Don waved it off. Shooting a bicep curl and a quad thrust to show it off. "Never mind," he said. They both laughed like the old buds they were and entered Don's room. "Listen," Kurt, calm now behind closed doors, "your son is powerful buddy." "Where is he?" Don asked with a little too much emphasis. "Relax, with an old pro judge friend of mine, probably telling him how to throw his chest up front, just a time waster, wanted an hour or two with you to talk. Old judge will probably blow him, you know how they are." Don got up and poured them both a drink. "Can't thank ya enough for taking care of him, getting him to that space to let of go of his old coach." "Buddy, that's just it, I think he needs a coach and a dad. Jock with that potential is rare, once in a lifetime. I cursed you last night for finding him first cause I could do a number on him alone, but I didn't." Don's hands gripped the glass hard and stared at his Marine brother. "You mean to tell me..." "Relax, we're muscle brothers, I'd never do that." They both took a moment to process the information pretending that they weren't doing that. Kurt rose. Don could see he was wearing the belt buckle he knew. The one with the eagle and crosses. He could see his old buddy's quads against the denim, the shelf pecs in his dress shirt, the spit polished boots. Don immediately rose. The full Under Armour suit feeling more than a second skin, it felt erotic and weird and natural at the same time. His dick was getting hard in the tights but he didn't care, he was with a bud from way back, the guy who got his cherry at his first comp. Kurt drew him close. "You remember buddy how it felt? Andy's just starting on it, he needs guidance, maybe from a better dad." Kurt moved his hand down Don's pecs, over the taught material and down to the waistband. "Right bud, just like old times?" Don leaned his head forward. And gave a grunt. "Not yet bud, gonna make this complete." Kurt took the syringe and tapped the head. "Like I met you Don. First competition. You were hungry for muscle and I fed you what you needed." Don tried to flex as the spike went into his bicep. He couldn't. "Bud, I hate to do this to you, but you understand I need to do it. Andy needs it and I do, too." Warmth fled through Don's body, relaxing his body against his will. Dumbly, he felt Kurt release the needle and swab it with iodine. "Bud, I'm sorry. I need to do this. I know I said I wouldn't but I need your son. I'm sorry." Don understood, damn, his muscle were sweating into the gear or were they sweating into his, he couldn't tell but he knew he absorbed Doug's muscle. Don started to move around checking himself in the mirror and liking this new gear a lot. Now he understood why his son wanted it so badly. The quads were obscene in this material, the pecs larger than they were. His cock a full bulge reminding him of wrestling days when he'd get hard on the mat. Kurt stepped behind Don in front of the mirror. Years of competing together and apart gave them an easy language. To Kurt, Don had found a new fetish. The tight Under Armour gear did make him look incredible. Shelf pecs. Peaked arms, quads that would be hard to accommodate but bent to his will in this material. The white stripe against the black material pointing that out. Kurt obliged. Being a few years his senior, Kurt knew how Don would respond to the shot as he did when they first met. While Don posed in the mirror, Kurt prepped the needle and slammed it into Don's neck, emptying the contents with a quick push. Standing behind him, Kurt watched as the drug surged through the pumped muscle and eventually, into Doug's brain where it had maximum effect. Don felt the familiar roid rush, flushing his face and buzzing through his brain. But something else in the shot made him drop to his knees and feel weak. His muscles did not respond to the instinct of flexing, he had trouble concentrating. Eventually, he was laid out on the floor, exhausted and confused but feeling Kurt's presence standing in front of him. Don looked up at Kurt's legs, his Marine haircut brushing up against Kurt's spit shined jump boots. He tried to reach up, to connect with his muscle bud but couldn't. He was drooling, his mouth wide open and his cock hard in the tight gear. Breathing heavily and in a whisper, he mouthed "wha..." The crab pose was Kurt's favorite and he executed it over Don's head. When finished, he placed his index finger into Don's mouth which Don felt but to which he could not respond. "That's it buddy. Remember when you first came to me? Jacked up and needing a bud who understood the power of muscle? Remember the first juice shot? Remember how that got you on my cock and how long we stroked?" Don's cock arched through his tight gear, a small precum shot darkening the Under Armour but his mind was struggling to stay present. "Buddy, I'm sorry to do this to you, really." Kurt stroked the EG&A tat on Don's left bicep. "But I have no choice, I need Andy as my son. I've never felt such power from another young bodybuilder. You did good, but I can do better and bigger than you can." Kurt reached further down the proud bodybuilder's abs and slid his hand under the tight waistband of Don's running gear, sliding his hand into a grasp on his cock, feeling the totally shaved balls and upper thigh. "You know how it is. you outgrow your coach and start seeking a true muscle dad. That's what Andy and I have bud." Kurt started slowly stroking the laid out muscle. Don couldn't resist, arching his back and breathing deeply. "Don, you're my true muscle bud and damn, I hate doing this to you, but buddy the feeling is too strong. Wish you never sent him to me. Don't worry, I'll always help ya out." Kurt could see that the extra roid and sedative was taking effect on Don's muscular frame. He started stroking his pecs and cock like a true USMC brother. "I want your son, bud. He needs me and I need him as my son." Don came hard and easily into Kurt's mouth "thanks, bud, knew you'd understand." Kurt drank deep and fully of the defeated bodybuilder's cock, leaving Don spent and crippled. ________________ Andy could feel the pressure of Kurt's hand on his head, bending him at the knees since Kurt's muscular quads were right behind his. Kurt angled from the mirror to the table by the window. With a slow force, he bent Andy over so that his forehead was resting above the table, his chin touching. Andy gave a bit of struggle by flexing his muscle in awkward ways, but he relaxed finally. Clearing his head, he saw the folders with the competitors' profiles. It took a moment before he focused on a folder that bore his name. And photos of him from years ago as a wrestler, a young builder standing next to Don at wrestling matches, a beaming smile, and finally, above and to the right, a name card, in a plastic sleeve with a ribbon attached that had Kurt's name in bold type and underneath "NPC Collegiate: Judge." Andy felt Kurt's hand on his shaved balls at about the same time he felt his cock press against his ass. Andy had never been fucked before but it didn't feel uncomfortable. Kurt knew Marines and he moved his hand around to grip Andy's pulsing cock. Andy felt a sharp pinprick in his tensed ass. A warm feeling spread down his legs and into his torso. "Son, you're gonna take my load and you're going to let it spread through your body. I'm giving you my muscle, son, cause you deserve it and need it. I'm going to make sure you walk away with the 1st place trophy." Kurt thrust harder and bent down so that his mouth was next to Andy's ear. Andy was silent, completely overwhelmed by his new coach's muscle and listening intently to his words being planted in his head. "I'm going to fill you with my muscle, son. I want you to take it. That pin prick was fast-acting roids. It's going to make you feel a bit weird for a bit as your body reacts to it, but relax, I got your back." Kurt thrust deeper, feeling ready to cum, his own muscle flexing taught. "Nice and slow, stud. You do what I tell you and I guarantee your win. I am a judge. And I'll do that for you." For all the times that Don blew Kurt in the pump room after a competition; for the times they would jack each other off in front of the posing room mirror; for all the times Don drenched his buddy's pecs and abs with his testosterone-laden cum; he would deliver a win to Don as a final present and through his own perfectly built bodybuilder son. Kurt's load blew deep into Andy's gut. He just held Andy's hard cock in his grip, not letting him cum just yet, edging him till he could feel the cum and the roids mix in his head. "Good boy," Kurt said as he brought Andy to his wobbly feet. He leaned a weak and spent Andy against the wall, enjoying watching the young, muscular Marine get lost in the muscle worship and the strange but powerful bond he was feeling with Kurt. "Did good for your first time, son. Now relax and let me take care of you." Kurt placed his spent cock back in his jock and leaned forward, both his arms placed on the wall, his biceps on either side of Andy's head. The sweat from fucking the kid creating an intoxicating odor, filling Andy's nose with a pure, overpowering smell of total masculinity. Andy's head was swimming, the roids taking effect. He was being controlled by them and Kurt and it felt like nothing he'd experienced before. Andy kept trying to flex his pecs and arms, but he couldn't focus. His cock was dripping clear precum down his shaft. He had one goal and that was to have Kurt get him off. Kurt stood in front, his pecs barely touching Andy's, his five o'clock shadow and mustache grazing Andy's cheeks. "Time for you to experience serious muscle worship, son. Time to get off with another bodybuilder. Time for you to come as a bodybuilder for the first time." Kurt spat in his hand and reached down to hold the tip of Andy's cock, using his thumb to slowly rub just the bit of skin under the head. Andy kept trying to flex, but the sensation flooded his mind, his eyes rolled back into his head and he kept thrusting forward into Kurt's hand. Kurt took Andy's cock by the base, holding his cock straight up and let the kid pump his fist. The ropes of cum landed squarely on Andy's chest. When he was done, Kurt smoothed the cum onto the Marine's chest and on his arms. Andy was so out of it, Kurt could have done anything to him, but he leaned forward and place his thumb between his lips and opened Andy's mouth. He licked a large string of cum off Andy's chest and kissed him deeply. Andy was a bodybuilder now and he knew the kid's love of muscle had just begun. "Tell your dad that you're ready to compete. Tell me that you're going to win it for me." Kurt rubbed Andy's neck and smelling of both their cum, testosterone and muscle.